


Elixir to Induce Euphoria

by mandathegreat



Series: Wizarding AU [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Anal Sex, Frottage, Gryffindor Alfred, Harry Potter - Freeform, M/M, Oral Sex, Quidditch, Slytherin Arthur, and the prefects bathroom, hogwarts seventh year students, inappropriate use of the room of requirement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-30
Updated: 2014-07-30
Packaged: 2018-02-11 02:06:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2049273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandathegreat/pseuds/mandathegreat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alfred and Arthur are rivals on the Quidditch Pitch and in the classroom, but when the two of them are forced to work out their differences, they discover that they don't hate each other as much as all their friends think they do.</p><p>Hogwarts!USUK</p><p>Sex and fluff and the inappropriate use of the Room of Requirement. And the Prefect's Bathroom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Elixir to Induce Euphoria

**Author's Note:**

> So, for the purpose of the AU--the first wizarding war happened, and then voldemort was destroyed for good. This takes place a bit after that when the wizarding world is at peace again.

The Snitch was only just out of his reach; he could feel its wings flickering against his fingertips, ready to be caught. Arthur Kirkland was so close to grabbing the win for Slytherin. He was almost there, broom edging faster and faster until—CRACK—a bludger was sent, not for his body, but for the wide end of his broomstick, throwing him right off balance. He thought for a second that he might fall straight off, but he held on, hanging from his shaking broom, only regaining his seat as the Gryffindor seeker caught the Snitch, winning the match for Gryffindor. 

Arthur hung his head as he flew down to the ground—beaters were supposed to aim for the person, not the broomstick, and he had a feeling that he knew exactly who was behind the (uncalled, damn Hooch and her playing favorites) foul. 

As the players landed on the pitch, Arthur dismounted and approached the culprit immediately.

“Jones!” He added, angrily, with a shove. “That was a foul and you know it.”

Alfred Jones, one of Gryffindor’s two beaters and captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, twirled his bat in his hands, grinned his annoying grin and said, “What was a foul?” His stupid blue eyes sparkled beneath his glasses.

“And here I thought Gryffindors played by the rules.” This was an old argument between them, rivals everyday from the second the hat declared them Gryffindor and Slytherin to that very moment, at the beginning of their Seventh Year.

“And I thought that Slytherins knew when to pick their battles. Do you want to fight, Kirkland? ‘Cause I think I can probably take you.”

Jones may have had a point—the American had about 5 inches on him, and all those years as a beater really had left him with nice defined arm muscles that sometimes were shown off quite nicely in his Hogwarts sweater. Not that Arthur had ever noticed it.

He scoffed, hoping it would make his brief hesitation go unnoticed as he spoke again. “I’m not about to get into a physical fight on the Quidditch pitch, Jones. Didn’t the muggles you grew up with teach you to fight like a gentleman?”

Another grin bloomed on Jones’ face, this one more of a smirk, really. “Not at all, Kirkland. I’m no gentleman. And if we’re asking questions, didn’t those cold-hearted Death Eaters that raised you teach you how to lose with dignity? Oh wait, no—they really didn’t.”

Arthur could feel the anger boiling up inside, threatening to actually hit the bastard—his family were a lot of things, but Death Eaters were not one of them. He managed to do the proper Slytherin thing, and suppress it until he could think of a better revenge.

“Fair Enough, Jones.” He saw the look of victory cross the other’s face as he turned and started towards the Gryffindor side of the pitch.

He suddenly remembered that he had magic, and then thought of a better revenge.  
  
In a matter of seconds his wand was out, and he quickly whispered, _“Locomotor mortis_ , _”_ and watched as Jones’ legs locked up, and he fell into the mud. By then he had the attention of both the Gryffindor and Slytherin teams, as well as a few other students, and he watched as Jones righted himself, red Quidditch robes stained with filth, and shouted, _“Rictusempra!”_

Arthur felt the phantom fingers tickling him, with no stop in sight, and he fell into the mud with incontrollable laughter. By the time it had worn off, he could hear the shouts of other students firing spells from both sides, and he rushed right back into the fray.

…

Ten minutes later, they were both seated upon a couch, now ruined with mud, in Professor McGonagall’s office, both McGonagall and Snape looking at them disapprovingly.

“Boys, you would think that after nearly seven years, this petty rivalry would have calmed down, even a bit.” McGonagall frowned.

“Kirkland, while immaturity may be in Jones’ nature, I don’t believe it is in yours. Needless to say, your families will both be hearing about this. As it is, I am taking 30 points from Slytherin.” Snape seemed only a little more irritated than usual.

“As am I from Gryffindor. Boys, we feel that causing such a mess and a potential dangerous environment should have a severe punishment.”

“However, at the end of this year, you will be taking your N.E.W.T.s, and Headmaster Dumbledore has instructed us that you will not be serving detention for your actions.”

McGonagall continued. “Mr. Jones, you barely made it into N.E.W.T. level Potions this year, and Mr. Kirkland, we all know that Defense Against the Dark Arts is not your friend. Since you both excel at the subject the other struggles with, two days a week, you will spend your time after classes tutoring each other. Dumbledore hopes that maybe this way, you can put aside your differences.”

Arthur began to argue at the same time as Alfred.

“You’re getting along better already. No arguing, boys. Now, off to get clean, both of you.”

…

Arthur had tried to blow off the first “Tutoring” session, but Snape practically dragged him to Jones, and they had ended up, miraculously, in the Room of Requirement.

Alone.

Arthur couldn’t remember the last time that they were alone together. In fact, he was sure there were always people around them, encouraging their rivalry.

The Room of Requirement was mostly empty, and the two of them sat slumped against the wall, legs pressed together. Arthur, for maybe the first time ever, didn’t know what to say.

“You remember our first time on the Hogwarts Express?” Alfred said, and he laughed, different from his normal boisterous one.

“Yeah.” He replied. The American and his brother whatshisface had sat with him in a train car, and they had got on quite well, even with their backgrounds being so different. He could only imagine the wonder the boys had felt then, being so new to magic and getting exposed to so much, so quickly.

Arthur had always been around magic. His whole family was magic, and they were as pureblood as purebloods could be. During the First Wizarding War, Arthur’s parents were contacted by Voldemort, but instead of rejecting or accepting his invitation, they fled to France and hid there until it was safe to return. His father had defended it as being the proper Slytherin thing to do—they had saved their own necks. But by the time Arthur had come to Hogwarts, life had been back to normal, and the Kirklands were just another rich Slytherin family.

“I thought that we could have been friends. You thought it was funny that my pictures didn’t move and I asked you if someone hexed your eyebrows.”

“That still isn’t funny, Jones!” He swatted his arm.

“Oh don’t worry, you grew into them.”

Arthur felt his own blush heat up his cheeks, and he turned away slightly. He felt far too warm in that moment, and he hadn’t a clue why. He tried to change the subject:

“So, shall we get to it then? I’ll go first.” The room shifted around them to look like Snape’s Potions classroom.

Alfred groaned, and reluctantly stood up and held out his hand to Arthur. “Okay, teach, let’s get started.”

…

The next few weeks turned out to be some of the most interesting weeks in Arthur’s life.

“No, you complete dolt, if you don’t stir the venom it will”—BANG!

“It will do that?”

…

He had started to get to know Jones better.

“Alright, Kirkland, tell me five ways you can recognize a Werewolf?”

“Um, an affinity for the moon?”

“Seriously?”

“Exceptionally hairy arms?”

“Tell me you’re joking?”

…

He had realized that—maybe—they should have been friends a long time ago.

“Okay, Veritus or Cruciatus?”

“Arthur, is this Wizard Truth or Dare?”

“…I suppose?”

“Okay, Cruciatus.”

“I dare you to set Peeves on Filch.”

“Done! Let’s go!”

…

They had been coming to these meetings for months, and no one else knew about them. It was a secret that they shared together, and somehow it made their new friendship stronger. They didn’t fight as much in public, instead, the classes they shared had been full of teasing words and blushing faces. People called their rivalry other things then, words like “flirting,” that Arthur pretended not to hear but reveled in anyway.

During Quidditch games, he would keep an eye on Alfred the same way he kept his eye on the Snitch. He would notice how he swung the bat with such precision, how the muscles in his back and arms moved so fluidly, and if Alfred’s bludger ever hit him (It did—nothing, not even whatever their relationship was, would get in the way of Alfred when he was playing Quidditch) he made sure to personally take him to Madame Pomfrey.

Francis Bonnefoy, Slytherin and Frenchman extraordinaire, knew what had been going on from the start. He teased Arthur mercilessly, because he had predicted it from Fourth Year. Gilbert and Antonio had a wager, he was certain of it, and Ivan, the bastard, had called him a blood traitor every day for months.

He didn’t know if Alfred was getting the same heat from his friends, couldn’t tell if his Hufflepuff brother made jokes, or if pretty and scary Elizabeta bothered him for details. He had no idea if Alfred discussed it with Kiku the Ravenclaw, or if Matthias and Tino were snickering about them as he walked by.

All he did know was that the whole dynamic of Hogwarts had changed, and there was a pressure in his heart, pulled tight like a bowstring just waiting to be let go.

So maybe, in retrospect, it wasn’t that much of a stretch that _it_ happened.

It was nearing the end of the term, and Hogwarts was getting ready for Christmas Break. But before that, there were exams and goodbyes to be said, and on their very last meeting before break, Arthur was demonstrating how to prepare the Elixir to Induce Euphoria.

“So, when you add the wormwood, _that’s_ when you stir six times.”

“Right, good job, Alfred. Now, it looks to be the right shade of yellow, but we’ll have to try it out to see if it works.” He poured a small amount into two cups, so they could down it in one shot, like firewhiskey. He gave Alfred one of the cups.

“Cheers.” They both downed the mixture, and Arthur was feeling it almost instantly, the euphoria so potent it almost blurred his vision, but not enough that he couldn’t see Alfred’s face of pure, irrational happiness.

They were both smiling wide and laughing, almost giggling, to each other, and the bliss was so strong that Arthur found himself holding on to Alfred, arms firm on his shoulders. Alfred had to hold on to him as well, one hand on his waist, and another cupping his cheek.

The euphoria was still burning like adrenaline in his veins, but now they were still and staring, the happiness burning into something else with the addition of touch. Alfred kept trying to talk and failing, until he gave up and kissed him instead.

The kiss was probably the most magical thing that Arthur had ever experienced in his seventeen years. He could feel it everywhere, and he kissed back with such enthusiasm that there could be no way that Alfred wasn’t feeling it too.

When Alfred’s tongue had brushed the seam of his lips, he parted with a sigh as he let Alfred in, tongues teasing and playing and wandering hands on his bum and he realized with a start that he was _snogging Alfred Jones._

He backed up almost immediately, euphoria completely gone from his body, breathing heavy and wondering just what the hell he was doing.

Alfred was flushed up to his ears, and his glasses had become crooked on his face. He was a mess, and Arthur had no doubt that he looked the same.

And in his stupid, chivalrous Gryffindor way, Alfred said, carefully, “Arthur, I’m sorry—if you want, we can call it an effect of the potion and just—um, ignore it.” He looked kind of down, like he took Arthur’s pulling away as a rejection.

So for once, Arthur didn’t think about the repercussions of his actions. He didn’t hesitate. He looked Alfred right in the eyes and said, “I’m done ignoring it,” and kissed him right back.

Alfred returned his kiss with a pleased moan, and after that there was really no stopping them. Seven years of tension was released all at once, and the force of it was blinding. Arthur twisted his fingers into his hair, and he could feel Alfred’s wandering hands slide from shoulder to waist and the down to palm his backside again like he had no idea what to do with them. When they came up for air, Alfred moved down to his neck, sucking and biting at the skin there, making Arthur shiver as he discovered his sensitive spots and then focused all his attention there.

Arthur managed to get Alfred to kiss him again, sloppy and hard like only boys of seventeen could manage, and he pressed himself close, aching for as much contact as possible. Arthur had never been kissed with such enthusiasm, never been made to feel this good. He wasn’t a virgin, but he was not at all experienced, and he couldn’t imagine it’d be any different for Alfred. He was getting hard pretty rapidly, and when Alfred had the sense to grind against him, their mutual moans of pleasure caused the Room of Requirement to change again, to a bedroom that looked like something out of a Muggle Studies textbook.

“This is my room at home.” Alfred exclaimed, pausing their activities for a moment.

“That’s great.” Arthur was sitting down on the bed in an instant, pulling Alfred on top of him with some newfound strength. And then they were kissing again, Alfred grinding them together again, moving his hips against Arthur’s, foreshadowing what he was going to do to him.

Arthur was blindly tearing at both of their robes and uniforms until red and green lay in a heap on the floor, and there was nothing but underwear between them.

Alfred had begun to kiss down, down, down until he had reached the seam of Arthur’s briefs. He suddenly looked up, sort of nervous, and asked, “You’ve done this before?”

Arthur blushed. “Uh, yeah, a just a couple of times.” He didn’t want to think about Francis right now, but the memory of the summer, and muggle wine and more muggle wine flashed through his head. They had never really had feelings for each other, rather, they were both horny as a Hungarian Horntail and it worked out that way.

Alfred came back up to kiss his nose. “Me too, just—well, just twice.” He went back down, and Arthur hissed as cool air hit his erection. He watched, mesmerized as Alfred licked a stripe up his cock and then took the head into his mouth. He absolutely didn’t know how to contain himself—Alfred had to hold his hips down as he moved forward to take more into his mouth. The hot, wet heat of it all had caused him to whisper a desperate, “Fuck!”

Alfred pulled away, grinning all the while. “Well, where did a good little pureblood like you learn such a nasty muggle swear like that?” His voice was ragged, breathy and lower, eyes darkened in pure want, and Arthur was losing his mind over it.

“Shut up, and kindly _fuck_ me. Is it still such a bad word?” He smirked. Alfred’s eyes widened for a minute, and he saw his resolve melting away—he couldn’t tease him any longer.

Alfred leaned over him and opened a drawer next to the bed, and pulled out a tube of something clear.

“Is that a lubricating potion?”

Alfred grinned. “Something like that, yeah. The muggle variant, I guess.”

He removed his own boxer shorts then, and Arthur reached out to trace the line of his cock with a finger. Alfred groaned and pulled away.

“Turn around for me?” Arthur complied. There was a part of him that felt embarrassed that he was arse-up in the Room of Requirement, but he told that part of himself to get lost.

He could feel Alfred’s fingers circling his hole, adding a little bit of pressure until one finger was inside. He took his time, careful not to be rough, and the muggle potion was doing its job nicely, easing the way for a second finger, and then a third. He curved in just the right spot for Arthur to see sparks, and after he cried out, the fingers were gone.

“Can you turn back around?”

“Make up your mind, Jones.” He maneuvered his body back to its original position on his back.

He looked sheepish. “I want to see your face.”

Arthur blushed again. He tilted his chin up to kiss Alfred, and then he felt the tip of his cock nudging at him, before entering. He went in slow, and Arthur supposed that was nice of him, because Alfred was bigger than what he was expecting.

When Alfred began to move inside him, Arthur was filled with real euphoria that rivaled the potion he had made before. They locked eyes, green on blue, and then Alfred smiled something sweet, and Arthur wondered if this was what love felt like. His mind sort of shut down then as the two of them rocked against each other, picking up speed as they neared their release.

Alfred pulled his hips forward so that he could get deeper, and as he leaned down to kiss him, he hit Arthur’s magic spot once again. He focused on that spot, thrusting hard as Arthur moved his hips with him. A hand, he wasn’t sure whose it was, reached out and stroked him, and within a matter of minutes it was over for the both of them. Arthur felt the liquid in between their stomachs, and felt Alfred spend inside of him. They collapsed in a heap on the bed, a tangle of limbs, and in a matter of minutes they were asleep wrapped around each other.

…

Which—really, they should have known better—was how they both ended up on McGonagall’s couch for the second time that year, right before Christmas break.

“Boys, I don’t care to know what you are doing, or who you are doing it to, just as long as you do what you’re doing off of school grounds. I won’t say anything to the faculty or to your parents, because this is a sensitive matter. Forty points from your respective houses, and Happy Christmas.”

…

The Christmas break was uneventful. They had sent letters to each other; detailing things they were doing for fun—whatever skiing was, Arthur thought it was terrifying. It was a nice way to actually talk, since after their…discovery by McGonagall, they had both been rushed to leave for break. In their correspondence, they had decided to be together, but not to let anyone know too much. It would be weird if it got in the way of Quidditch matches and people started pointing fingers at them.

And then, of course, there was the _other_ letter, the one that Arthur would lock in a box later to throw in the ocean, because he was a Slytherin and he knew good blackmail material when he saw it, especially when it was his own. This letter was a very detailed description of what he thought about when he pictured Arthur—his eyes, the curve of his backside, the tousled blonde locks of his hair. Alfred wrote a lot about how he was going to touch him, how they were going to have to find a new place, because the Room of requirement wasn’t an option any more. He wrote that there was a part of him that had always wanted Arthur, had needed his attention, and so he had picked hundreds of fights, teased him to the end of the world, because, as brave as he was, a part of him was scared that Arthur would have rejected him.

Arthur had sent only one sentence back to him in response:

_Admitting you are scared is probably the bravest thing you can do, Gryffindor._

…

Upon return to Hogwarts, the students and professors all gathered for dinner in the Great Hall. Arthur sat, unresponsive, while Francis tried to initiate conversation. He kept trying, until he realized where Arthur’s mind was. The fact that he was gazing dreamily at the Gryffindor table only confirmed it.

“ _Rosbif_ , you are drooling a little bit.”

“Wha—?” Arthur was a bit unlike himself; his sharp-tongued retorts and quick-witted cunning were replaced by a lovesick moron.

“Exactly my point—have you even—“ Arthur blushed red to the tips of his ears. “You _have,_ haven’t you? Tell me everything.”

And Arthur did, because—for some messed up reason—Francis was his best friend. Arthur just talked, quietly, and some part of him thought it as amazing that Francis didn’t try to talk the whole time.

“—and now I just want to see what happens next, because it just sort of dawned on me that I’m dating an American Muggle-born _Gryffindor_ and I think I’ve lost my mind.” And with that, Arthur was done.

“But, isn’t a forbidden love romantic? And who knows, your family might not hate him—Jones is probably going to go professional Quidditch, right? I know your Maman, Arthur—she wants someone successful for you, that’s all.”

“I suppose you’re right, frog.”

“And, if your worried about not having a place to be together, well—“ He held up his Prefect keys. “I can help you with that.” He grinned his stupid evil grin, and Arthur wondered for the billionth time how Francis was ever made a Prefect.

…

When Dumbledore bid them goodnight, everyone was out the doors in a hurry to get back into their common rooms and talk about the break with their friends. Arthur saw an opportunity, and got close enough to Alfred in the crowd to whisper, “After hours, Prefect’s Bathroom.” And slipped away again in enough time to watch Alfred stop short in the crowd and cause a minor collision.

…

Arthur had snuck out of the Slytherin dungeons with Francis the corrupt Prefect’s help. When he reached the bathroom, Alfred was there waiting for him, grinning all the while.

Arthur let them in without a word, and when the door was closed and locked, Alfred had pushed him up against it, kissing him roughly, and when they came back up for air, they were nose to nose, and he was grinning rather wolfishly.

“Hello.” Arthur said, because he was afraid of some of the things that he really wanted to say.

“Hi baby. I missed you a whole lot.” Arthur rolled his eyes at the pet-name, ignoring the thrill it sent down his spine.

“As did I.”

Alfred nuzzled into his hair then, practically purring his next words into Arthur’s ear. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you the whole time I was away.”

“So I gathered from your letter.” Arthur wasn’t trying to be cold to him with his small responses, it was just hard to focus when the object of his affections was pressed flush against his body, erection not insanely hard yet but still pressed into his abdomen and Arthur wasn’t much better off.

And sometime after that, they had given up their farce of small talk and began kissing again, hard against the wall, Alfred somewhat deftly undoing the fastenings on their trousers and pulling both their cocks out of their underwear.

Arthur didn’t mean to bite down on Alfred’s shoulder when he brought their cocks together, stroking them in his Quidditch-calloused hand. He didn’t. But the boy moaned so loud after, that Arthur thought he might make a habit of it. He chuckled a little bit, but stopped when Alfred returned to kissing his neck, sucking at the skin there and surely creating a love bite the size of the entire bloody castle. He arched into the hand that was stroking them both off, feeling the pressure build up and up and up—

“Ah—Alfred, I’m—oh Merlin’s beard—I’m going to—“

“Me too,” Alfred added with a groan, and then it was all over, and they were slumped down against the wall, a little sticky and breathless. Alfred kissed him, sweet and lazy, and nuzzled into his hair again, and this time Arthur didn’t wonder—he knew this was what love felt like.

…

Arthur received a letter a couple of weeks later from his mum, telling him that she had found a curious letter in a box in his room at home, and to bring his new “friend” home for the spring holidays.

When Arthur had realized exactly which letter she had been talking about, he had practically died, and Alfred had moaned about how Arthur’s parents were going to feed him to the snakes for despoiling their youngest son.

(It ended up going quite well, when they learned that Alfred was going to play Quidditch professionally, and had plans to be a Gringotts curse-breaker after that, for those are the kinds of things that pay well and grant personal success. After that, they were basically putty in his hands.)

…

After the spring holiday, Dumbledore himself had come up to them and congratulated them on ending their rivalry and bringing some peace to Hogwarts. He encouraged them to, “Whatever you’re doing, keep it up.”

And Professor McGonagall choked on her tea.

But then she smiled, and sighted, “Young love—idiots.”

…

They all lived happily (magically) ever after.

 

 


End file.
